I am floating on my back in a geothermal crater, gazing up at a Tiffany-blue Tuscan sky. I can hear nothing but the hum of happy crickets in pine trees, and should I lift my lazy neck, I would be rewarded with a view of a picturesque medieval village perched atop a distant hill. The water is a steady 99 degrees, more or less body temperature, and I’m as blissed-out as a baby in the womb.
Did I mention that the whole place smells like rotten eggs?
